


If You're Gonna Go Somewhere, You've Gotta Go Somewhere Far

by teenuviel1227



Series: Crank The Sun [2]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: California Dreaming, M/M, beach times, brian surfs and is shirtless a lot, music journalist! Jae, return of ponytail K, tagged mature for sexual content but it's nothing too graphic, tattooist!Brian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: After their one-night encounter in Hong Kong and the 6-month long distance courtship that follows, tattooist Brian finally decides to take the guest space in Los Angeles and stays with Jae for three long weeks that are far too short for either of their liking.





	If You're Gonna Go Somewhere, You've Gotta Go Somewhere Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kangdanna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangdanna/gifts).



> This is part 2 of the [Crank The Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/series/941094)  
> aka the Tattooist!Brian AU. 
> 
> Part 1 is[here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13559607)
> 
> Title is from Return To The Moon by ELVY, series title is from Crank The Sun by EL VY. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/teenuviel1227)  
> [Blog](http://teenuviel1227.wordpress.com)  
> [Curious Cat](http://curiouscat.me/teenuviel1227)

Jae’s memorized it by now--the way that the linework wave crests right at the curve of Brian’s right shoulder, the way that the smooth lines give way to dot work seafoam that creates a smooth transition down toward the twin foxes that flank the lotus flower on his chest: yin and yang, the space of the foxes’ parted jaws filled in with the flower’s flared petals, the way that the mandala on his left shoulder moves into the lasso that curves along the line of his upper back, grasping at a bass-clef symbol. But everyday, there are little things that add to his awe and admiration of Brian: today, for instance, as the early California sun hangs like a bright, giant yolk in the clear, blue Los Angeles sky, Brian is coming up and out of the water, surfboard in tow, hair up and back in a ponytail, wetsuit peeled down and it’s only then that Jae, who is lying on the sand in a wifebeater and boardshorts, pretending to read a magazine, notices that he also has an anchor tattoo on his left foot, the tip grazing the bone of his ankle ever-so-slightly. Jae lowers his shades, takes a sip from his strawberry smoothie.

_Goddamn. Now that is a man._

He watches as Brian undoes the velcro strap around his right ankle, tosses his surfboard onto the sand before peeling off the rest of his wetsuit, leaving him only in black trunks that accentuate the curve of his waist, the line of his thighs. Jae takes in the way that the sun from the past week has robbed Brian’s skin of its city pallor, replacing it with a golden tan that makes Brian’s eyes seem even more vivid, emphasizes his high cheekbones as a natural flush comes over the apples of his cheeks.

Brian plops down onto the towel beside Jae’s, breathless. Jae watches his toes dig into the sand.

Jae offers him a sip from his smoothie. “Pretty wild out there, huh.”

Brian grins, obliges, drinking in the tart sweetness of the strawberries, feeling the slush make its way down his parched throat. “Yeah. Crazy. Wonderful though. You don’t wanna get out there with me?”

Jae grins, finishing off the rest of his drink. “I’ll take your word for it. The last thing I want is to drown during the three best weeks of my life.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Brian smiles, leans in to kiss Jae slow, soft. He’s warm and tastes sweet, salty like the sea.

Jae feels intoxicated not for the first time that morning.

Neither of them can stop grinning.

Jae pushes a stray strand of silver hair behind Brian’s ear.

“Breakfast?”

 

The last six months were a strange kind of hell for both of them: following their odd Hong Kong airport goodbye which was unexpectedly sweet, full of whispered nothings and promises to yes, call and yes, get in touch, making sure that yes, they’ve got the right details and social media handles (I booked a tattoo appointment with you, __remember__?), they’d begun a correspondence that spanned every possible mode of contact that didn’t cost an arm and a leg: Skype, email, and Instagram. Jae had made sure to keep his internet access on despite being all over the world, reviewing festivals and concerts, from small, intimate hole-in-the-wall shows to larger, stadium settings. He relished getting those Instagram messages from Brian at five in the morning, sending him clips of local HK bands he’d seen that he thought Jae would be into, sending him a couple of tattoos he’d worked on that reminded him of Jae’s preferred aesthetic, sending him little blocks of text or poetry passages in a book he’d been reading that reminded him of what it felt like to be with Jae or to suddenly fall in love. Jae saved all of the messages, screenshot-ing his screenshots and moving them into his hard drive just in case. On bad days, he read them back over dinner. On good days, well, he read them back over dinner.

A favorite of his is a poem Brian sends him over the New Year.

The Quiet World  
By Jeffrey McDaniel

  
In an effort to get people to look  
into each other’s eyes more,  
and also to appease the mutes,  
the government has decided  
to allot each person exactly one hundred     
and sixty-seven words, per day.  
  
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear     
without saying hello. In the restaurant     
I point at chicken noodle soup.  
I am adjusting well to the new way.  
  
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,     
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.     
I saved the rest for you.  
  
When she doesn’t respond,  
I know she’s used up all her words,     
so I slowly whisper I love you  
thirty-two and a third times.  
After that, we just sit on the line     
and listen to each other breathe.

To which he’d replied: _So...I’m the one who runs out of words? HAH You mock me. I’m a Twitter genius. 167 words, I was here back in the day of 140._

In turn, Brian thought about Jae almost 24/7, feeling a little stupid for being so smitten but not really caring because it’s the most alive he’d felt in a while--walking down the street, he’d see the dimsum place that they’d eaten at and find himself smiling for no apparent reason. Getting groceries, he’d pass by a magazine stand selling the latest issue of Rolling Stone where Jae happened to write a couple of features and he’d pick it up immediately, suddenly aching to get home and devour the piece, to listen to what Jae’d been listening to, to read what he had to say about it. He’d watch a show and find it funny, thinking that if Jae were with him, he would enjoy it too. He typed the jokes out, making a mental note to share them with him when they finally met up again.

Jae’s form of communication was a little longer, prose to Brian’s poetry: he wrote article-length emails detailing everything he’d done that day, everything that he enjoyed, things he felt, how they reminded him of Brian, the photos inserted in-line like a short zine.

Brian printed them out and tacked them to his journal. Despite taking up the electric in his trade and in music he wrote on the side, Brian was an analogue kind of guy at heart--he doesn’t _quite_ trust technology to save everything. He’d read Station Eleven: what if something happened and the internet disappeared and they never saw each other again, at least he would have those to know that it happened. And to laugh at when the void came gnawing at his existence.

Both of them ended their correspondences with the implication of seeing each other again: __until next time__  or __when we go watch the show together__ or __next time we see each other__ , and when Brian had gotten the IG message from his friend Mark, a Taiwanese-American tattooist who he’d met back when he lived in Taipei, asking if he wanted to do a guest place for three weeks at his new shop in LA, the answer had been pretty damn easy.

He’d decided to be coy, had sent Jae the usual IG story with a picture of the plane ticket, everything blurred except the destination. LAX.

Captioned: _This time, I’m coming to see you._

Jae was in Nashville, covering a The Pierces show when he’d gotten the message and his heart had done a little loop-de-loop to the time of the strumming guitars, the hopeful chorus seeming to envelope him. They were finally going to be in the same timezone, the same vicinity, the same space.

Reply: _Stay at mine?_

 

 

The first few minutes of meeting each other again, they’re shy, re-learning the parameters of each other and just how close they can be, want to be, will let themselves be--when Jae picks Brian up at the airport, they’re both nervous, the pressure of everything they’ve shared over the past few months finally mounting, building between them. _What if it’s awkward? What if we suddenly have nothing to say to each other?_

And then their eyes meet and Brian lifts a tentative hand to wave and Jae says the dumbest, most perfect thing that breaks any ice between them.

“You’re going to sleep like, __in my bed__ , right?”

“Excuse me?” Brian found himself half-smiling, wondering what the hell was going on.

“I mean. I’ve got a couch, but it sucks and like, yeah--”

“--yessss,” Brian said tentatively, feeling a laugh building up in his gut as Jae helped him with his things. “Yes, I will sleep in your bed. Don’t worry, I didn’t fly across the Pacific Ocean to turn you into a sexless inn-keeper.”

Brian grinned mischievously as Jae turned the color of his red sweater. “Right. Yeah. Yeah okay. Lunch?”

 

 

The first two days they didn’t do much but stay inside and go at it until they couldn’t--Brian waking Jae up with soft kisses that soon turned fevered as hands found the hems of clothing, palms skimming skin until they were both a mess against each other, Jae distracting Brian from whatever he was cooking (those classic __and he cooks!__ ads had suddenly rung true to him) by coming up to hug him from behind, his ears kissing hollow of his neck, smiling against that small, subtle mole that matched the one on his neck. They went at it until Jae could barely walk, until Brian’s legs ached from holding Jae up against the wall, from bracing him against the huge tub in Jae’s bathroom, from lifting him up onto the kitchen counter.

And also, they kind of ran out of food to cook--and Brian’s guest spot at Mark’s shop (TuanInk) was about to begin so they’d decided to go and do groceries, hit the beach before Brian got to work.

“Not bad for my first customer as a guest,” Brian jokes as, a few days later, he gets Jae ready for his session, pressing the stencil down on Jae’s forearm, holding it there until the ink takes, a deep blue-violet.

Jae grins, looks at Brian from over the tops of his glasses. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Brian shakes his head. “Just _one_ boy, these days.”

That shuts Jae up.

Mark laughs from where he’s sitting at his table, working on a flash sheet for that weekend. His shop is bright, wide, all open-panelled windows and pale wood floors. The walls are white, the furniture wooden with cushions upholstered in bright, tropical flower patterns, a woven rug with cannabis-leaf print running through it lies in the waiting area.

“You know it’s weird seeing Brian like this.”

“Oh yeah?” Jae asks, smiling mischievously. “Why? What’s BriBri usually like?”

Brian shoots Mark a look. “Tell him and I’ll kill you.”

Mark grins. “Well, let’s just say, no one else we know would call him BriBri and live to tell the tale.”

“You make me sound like some kind of drill sergeant.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Mark says, grinning as he finishes off a sketch of a traditional hand holding up a heart. “Mr. Overachiever, you’re usually the kind of guy who people would describe as butter-won’t-melt. Hell would freeze over and die and you wouldn’t look up from someone you were tattooing. Once we were in Taipei and Jerry Yan showed up at the shop and everyone freaked out and you just sat there, focusing on doing the fire-patterns on the client’s leg.”

Brian laughs, leans against Jae as they wait for the stencil to dry. “Yeah, well. He didn’t talk to me about the various meanings of the lotus flower as a symbol. Didn’t he mistake us for a milk tea place?”

“Fair enough,” Mark replies.

Jae watches as Brian checks the stencil, lays out his supplies, pouring a small amount of ink into the cup. Today, he’d decided to do some warm-up before his clients started pouring in: the design is one that he’d drawn up with Jae in mind and which Jae had instantly fallen in love with once Brian had shown it to him. It was a whipping-style phoenix made so that the feathers coiled around Jae’s forearm artfully, showing off their long, slender shape, the beak ending at the underside of his wrist like an arrow making its point. When Jae asked him why it reminded Brian of him ( _ _please not the Chicken Little thing, please not the Chicken Little thing__ ), Brian said Jae’s reinvention of himself as a critic, from blogger to vlogger to serious, think-piece author was something to be admired, something that came as a consequence of the flames of hard work.

Reinvention, rebirth.

Also, finding love when you thought you’d be unable to, rekindling the fire when you’re older.

(That last bit he’d mumbled shyly, Jae tilting his chin up to kiss him softly.)

“Ready?” Brian asks. “Just the outline today, hopefully it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Jae grins. He’s sure it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker because his pain tolerance is at zero. “Okay. Hit me.”

 

 

It isn’t as bad as Jae initially thinks. After the lotus which wrapped around the tender flesh of his inner arm, this felt like a piece of cake. It was bigger but less intensive, is over in a shorter span of time than he expects. He and Brian look at themselves in the mirror. Jae feels his heart leap--first at the sight of Brian, standing in a plain white shirt and tight, ripped jeans, hair worn half-up today, the rest of its silver glory draped across his shoulders, and then at the sight of himself next to him, the tattoo just peeking out of his oversized teal shirt. It looks beautiful, the bold strokes of the wings making him look like he’s wearing armor, makes him feel like he’s got a superpower--he feels stronger, more himself.

“It’s beautiful,” Jae whispers, turning his arm this way and that to get a better glimpse of the inkwork all the way through.

Brian smiles wide, leaning over to kiss Jae’s nape. “I’m glad you like it. You sat like a motherfucking champion, too.”

“You know, I could probably take some more,” Jae says cautiously. “I mean, if you’re up to it. I know you wanted to get the outline done first--but if it’s cause you were worried about whether or not I could take the pain. I can take the pain. It’s not as bad as I thought.”

Brian grins at him in admiration. “Nah, let’s finish it next time.”

“But--”

“--think of it as assurance,” Brian says, tossing his gloves, the ink cup into the waiting garbage can. “That there’ll most definitely be a next time.”

 

 

They fall into a routine of sorts. In the morning, they get up when it’s early enough for the sun to be kind to Jae’s sunblock-smothered skin and fresh tattoo to go and catch some waves--or rather, Brian hangs ten while Jae catches up on his reading and drinks a fruit smoothie in the shade (Vit C to help him heal the tattoo, he says when Brian says that’s too much sugar for 6:00 AM). Jae likes watching Brian’s figure stark against the softness of the purple on pink on blue horizon, the way he tilts his hips for balance as he rides out a wave--beauty in motion, he thinks. There are a million words Jae could use but those three are what he writes down because they ring the truest. After, when the sun starts to peek bright over the houses by the shoreline, hanging itself up in the sky, they drive to Jae’s favorite brunch place and have a good, hearty meal--some pancakes, bacon, eggs, their respective coffees--before they go back home and get ready for the day.

Most days, Jae goes with Brian to the tattoo shop and plays assistant, filming Instagram live videos and short snippets for stories, helping him prepare his stencils, his materials, and then helping him clean up after. On other occasions, Jae drops Brian off before he heads to a nearby cafe to get some writing done, picking Brian up after for dinner. There are a couple of instances where they decide to stay in instead, foregoing the early morning for each others’ company, all warm hugs and soft kisses, noses brushing together under the duvet as they laugh at lame jokes until the sunlight finds a way to bleed into the room through the drawn blinds.

On rarer days still, Jae gets assigned to go to gigs--those days, Brian goes ahead to the shop in the morning and Jae rests up, picks Brian up at the shop later that evening before driving them down town or out to the desert to go and see the show. All of it exhilarates Brian: back home, his days are mostly spent reading or drawing or coming up with different ways to arrange guest spots for other artists. A routine that involves dancing and thumping music and the liveliness of sipping vodka from a tetra pack invigorates something in him. It’s a visual feast--people of all shapes, sizes, and personal styles, different tattoos and statements. At a gig downtown, he tries the bandana look on for size (Jae whistles when he ties it on in the car) and decides to keep it, at least for the rest of his trip. Jae has zero complaints.

Those nights are Brian’s favorites: the mornings after, the ideas come to him easily--the time passing fast as he comes up with different designs (a dot work armband, a filigree style flower-badge), makes flash sheet after flash sheet after flash sheet, working from photos and videos that he’d taken throughout the duration of the night.

In turn, Jae finds having Brian around at gigs extremely refreshing. For him, the music and the introspective part of his job have always come first: it’s new, seeing his life through Brian’s eyes-- _ _the people are amazing, Jae.__ Yes, the __people__ and how they talked and the way the crowd responded to the tunes and the way that the lights complimented the music. All of those little things that Jae took for granted, that after seeing so any gigs in his lifetime had become invisible to him. It was like hearing, seeing things for the first time. Brian also gives him someone to bounce his ideas off of: they argue about which songs were the best, which ones weren’t, which gigs were amazing and which ones fell short and why.

(And of course, there was the dancing with Brian part, the Brian’s outfits part, the everyone looking at them as they moved to the beat part. Jae likes to show off just a little, to gloat just a bit, resting his head on the crook of Brian’s shoulder, arms around him during the slow songs.)

Tonight, they’re driving out to the desert for a The Donnas reunion gig with the original line-up: Donna C drumming for the first time in over a decade. The gig is called Desert Moon Ultra, an outdoor concert with warm lights and free-flowing beer and blankets out in the sand toward the back of the venue, most of the crowd up toward the front. The air is electric with anticipation as Donna R comes tearing in with the guitar riff. Donna A starts singing and Donna F pulls the bass in. The riff goes on, old-school rock n’roll with influences here and there of metal, of blues rock.

 _Go on and take it off (take it off),_  
_Take it off baby for me_  
_Go on and shake it off (shake it off),_  
_‘Cause I get what I want and I like what I see_

Brian lets out a whistle. He whispers in Jae’s ear, lips tickling his ear lobes. “God __damn__ , that’s how you play bass.”

Jae feels the hairs on the backs of his arms stand up as the clouds part, letting the full moon shine through as Donna R goes into the guitar solo. He closes his eyes, leans back against Brian, suddenly conscious of the way that Brian’s hands are on his hips, slipping under his shirt, tracing the hollows of his hips where they dip into the waistband of his boxers.

He grins, leans back to whisper in Brian’s ear. “We’ve got a whole set to get through.”

Brian smiles against him, lets off only to tug Jae back by the belt loops. “They said to take it off, I was just following instructions.”

 

 

They make it to the last song but don’t stay for the encore, both of them antsy, feeling frisky and eager to touch, to kiss, to fuck slow. They drive out toward an empty stretch of sand between two adjacent rock formations--clear enough for them to see the stars but not for them to be discovered. They try inside the car, first but it’s too cramped and Jae’s long legs keep hitting the gearshift and Brian’s broad shoulders keep on catching on the seatbelt as he tries and scoop Jae into his lap. So instead, they decide to take their chances, laying a thick blanket out on the sand. They kiss slow but hungry, Brian pushing Jae softly back onto the woven blanket.

“You okay? The sand isn’t annoying?” Brian kisses him soft but lets his teeth drag on Jae’s bottom lip.

Jae grins. “It’s annoying but don’t stop--”

Brian obliges, working his way down until Jae is tensing underneath him, slowly thrusting into his mouth, crying out his name. Brian goes until Jae is asking him for it, asking to _please, please, please Brian for the love of god _.__ Jae cries out when Brian lets off, half in protest, half in anticipation of what’s to come. He watches the stars bright against the dark sky and wonders what he did to deserve this.

And then he is pulling Brian onto him again, hands unbuttoning, undoing, pushing fabric off of skin until Brian is naked above him, until he is stiff, swollen in Jae’s hands. He helps keep Brian stiff with his hands as they lube up, roll a condom on. And then Brian is holding Jae close, firmly in his grasp, prying him open soft and slow, kissing him softly through the stretch--pushing in slow, careful until they’ve both adjusted, until they’re both breathless against each other.

“Fuck me, Bri,” Jae whispers, kissing him, all tongue and teeth in desperation.

So Brian does what he’s told.

After, they clean up with wet wipes, tossing the soiled wipes and condom into a resealable garbage bag they make a mental note to dispose of later and put their clothes back on to stave off the cold night gust. They lie together, Brian lying on Jae’s chest, Jae playing with a strand of Brian’s hair.

The night sky is beautiful. Brian is trying to memorize the moment--takes note of the way the cool air feels against his skin, the way the blanket feels under them, the way Jae is humming to the tune of an old song, the way they fit just right like this.

“Jae?”

“Mmmm?”

“It’s going by too fast.” Brian’s hands clench around Jae’s sweater. He presses his cheek to Jae’s chest, breathing the smell of him in. __I like it here.__

Jae sighs softly, smiling as he plays with Brian’s ear lobes, fondly noting the two twin moles that rest there.

“I know.”

 

 

Jae wants to make Brian’s last day (and night) special so he pulls out all the stops: wakes up early, decides his tattoo has healed enough to take a dip in the water (that stuff’s antiseptic anyway--or so he tells himself) with Brian as opposed to sitting on the shoreline. Brian is ecstatic, is dressed before Jae can so much as finish explaining what it is that he has in mind. They catch some waves, both of them taking in the sight of the other sitting afloat in the big, blue vastness. Jae likes the way that the light plays off of Brian’s golden skin, his deep brown eyes, the curve of his shoulders, the silver of his hair. Brian loves the way that the vast landscape emphasizes how tall Jae is, the way his wetsuit shows off just how broad his shoulders are, how sinewy his muscles are underneath despite his lean frame, the way that his dark hair is highlighted by the sun, turning it a beautiful dark brown as it blows in the wind.

“I thought you didn’t surf,” Brian says as the water buoys them gently. They’re waiting for a swell.

Jae laughs. “I said I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Those are two completely different things.”

“You know I wouldn’t laugh at you right?”

“HAH,” Jae says. “I know for a __fact__ you’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Brian laughs. They both feel the water pull back, know that something it’s coming. “You know me so well.”

“Good. Now watch the master at work.” With that, Jae gets back down on his board, paddles out further until the water rises up to meet him. Jae plants his hands, tenses to spring and gets up just in time, the water carrying him as he gets up slowly, knees bent until he’s standing upright, riding out the wave.

Brian watches in awe, realizing what it is about Jae that mesmerizes him so: that subtle, unexpected gracefulness. He played at being awkward and goofy and is, in many ways those things, but also he carries himself well, knows who he is, knows the way to go. __I’m in love.__ Brian whispers his realization to the sea and catches the next wave until he wipes out.

 

 

The rest of the day goes by quickly: they eat at their favorite haunts, they take cheesy photobooth pictures at the mall (Brian insists his silver hair looks grandpa-esque in black and white), they spend some time just cuddling in bed, enjoying each other until late into the afternoon--and then Jae’s alarm goes off and they both startle.

“What the hell was that?”

Jae grins. “You’ll see. Now go get dressed.”

What it __is__ turns out to be a small catamaran that Jae’s rented out for them. It’s small but stable, glides well onto the water. Jae stops when they’re at a small alcove where the water is more or less still, where the stars are out and the moon is a big, round thing of light above them.

They go skinny dipping, Jae enjoying the site of Brian’s broad back emerging from his clothes, enjoying the site of his thick legs tensing as he jumps off of the platform and into the water. From where he’s looking back at the boat, Brian watches as Jae peels his clothes off, loving the way that his long, milky legs look in the moonlight, wonders if Jae would consider allowing Brian to tattoo his hips, adorn them with flowers. And then Jae is swimming toward him, and then they’re clinging to each other, kissing soft and slow, all tongue and teeth, bodies slick and aroused against each other. They grind until they can’t keep themselves afloat without struggling, at which point they make for the boat, Brian pulling Jae up onto the platform with him. Jae lays out a towel, Brian searches through his pockets for supplies, lays them out by the towel so they won’t slip out to sea. When he fucks Jae, he goes slow, both of them enjoying the pace, savoring one another, knowing they would have to go another period of time without each other. Brian enjoys the soft o-shape that Jae’s mouth makes as Brian thrusts into him, enjoys the way his name sounds on Jae’s lips, the way that lifts his hands up over his head, his phoenix tattoo taking flight, his lotus flower blooming in the moonlight. And Jae loves the way that Brian touches him, the way he allows him to relinquish control, the way that Brian’s moans go from low grunts of exertion to high-pitched whinnies of pleasure. He watches Brian’s shoulders, arms tense as he gives it a final push, spilling himself into the condom before stroking Jae until they’re both satiated, both languid against each other.

After, Jae pops open a bottle of wine, takes a swig from the bottle before handing it to Brian.

Brian grins, follows suit.

“This is beautiful,” he says softly, intertwining Jae’s fingers with his as they watch the tide like black ink washing over the silver night. “Thank you.”

Jae smiles. “Of course. I wanted to give you a reason to see me again. Positive reinforcement and all that.”

“How about let’s not bring up Freud so it doesn’t get creepy,” Brian jokes, raising an eyebrow

“Actually, that was B.F. Skinner,” Jae quips.

“Smart ass.”

“The one and only.”

“You wanna know something kind of dumb?”

“Always.”

“You met me at a really strange time in my life.”

“How so?”

“Maybe the week or so before your appointment back in HK, I’d kind of decided that I was cut out for the solitary life.”

“Celibacy? You?” Jae finds himself suddenly nervous. __He’s going to say he can’t see me anymore.__ “Pish posh.”

Brian laughs. “I mean, it wasn’t anything super bitter or anything and I was open to the idea of casual sex, friendly sex, but I’d been doing a lot of reflecting and realized I’d never really been in a relationship where I felt fully fulfilled, you know? Like, I can deal with good times and compassion, but __intimacy__  is a whole other ballgame. I’d decided I wasn’t cut out for long-term stuff, for boyfriend stuff.”

Jae raises an eyebrow. “I see. So this--”

“--let me finish,” Brian says, squeezing his hand. “I wasn’t going to ask you out, but there was something about you. Something about the way you told stories that made me want to talk to you more. So I thought __what the hell__ , at the very least I’ll have a new friend. But you were also hella sexy and charming and even when we went back to yours’, I was thinking __okay, a one-night stand, then.__ But then making love to you or having sex, whatever, I’d never felt like that before. There was a certain…chemistry, I guess, and at the end of it, I found myself wanting to see you again, knew I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. And now, well--”

Jae blinks, eagerly waiting for him to finish his sentence. “--now what?”

“--now I’m in love with you,” Brian says softly. “I __want__ to be your boyfriend. I mean. If you’ll have me, of course. I know it’s hard because of the long-distance but I could move here eventually. Or move wherever, at this point, as long as you’re there, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

Jae grins wide, his eyes forming the smallest crescents Brian’s ever seen. He waits a beat, enjoys the way that Brian is looking at him like he’s the only person in the world that matters.

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Jae says, kissing the hollow of Brian’s neck softly. “Yeah, I think I’ll keep you too.”


End file.
